


there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends

by spookydallons



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Casual Affair, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, One Shot, petekey (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 16:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookydallons/pseuds/spookydallons
Summary: This was how every ‘encounter’ with Brendon would end. No loving words or confessions of secret tortured feelings for each other exchanged, only the same apathetic affirmation that they hadn’t been caught, leaving Ryan feeling as if he was stuck in a hazy, alcohol and Brendon Urie fuelled limbo.





	there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends

**Author's Note:**

> events in this fic are purely fictional, loosely based off v&v and casual affair 
> 
> the line “pete wentz wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him over the head with his own damned bass” came from this post: http://crucios.tumblr.com/post/42380127787/love-cant-save-you-a-petemikey-otp-post-im-so

The morning after was always the worst.

Ryan isn’t sure what annoys him more, Jon having bailed the one night Ryan needed him most, or the fact that after all these years he’d ended up here again, back by Brendon’s side. He groans, clumsily fumbling for the tab of Advil on Brendon’s bedside table. Popping one into his mouth, he swallows the pill hard and dry. It would only be a matter of time before the hangover kicks in- it wasn’t as if he drank a lot that night, but Ryan had always been a lightweight. He flops back down into bed, gaze resting fixedly on the ceiling above him as he tries to gather his thoughts. 

Heck, Ryan doesn’t know whether he’s more angry or disappointed with himself.

“Morning.”

Ryan feels a weight lift from beside him as Brendon pulls himself into a sitting position, resting against the headboard of the bed. Brendon’s hair is tousled, hazel eyes bleary in his half asleep reverie. He yawns, reaches for his phone and starts scrolling through his notifications, makes no move to react or lash out at Ryan’s presence in his bed. 

“We can’t keep doing this, y’know.”

It’s as if Brendon doesn’t hear him. “Oh fuck, what happened last night? I have like, a million missed calls from Dallon.”

Ryan drops his head back into the pillow. It’s useless to try and talk to Brendon about something when he doesn’t want to. He’d found that out the hard way a little over half a decade ago, during the hazy years when Brendon had the cheek to behave especially affectionate towards him, yet continuously dodged the idea of putting a label on what they were supposed to be. Their little ‘affair’ had gone on for a few years, Ryan growing more and more emotionally attached to his bandmate with every passing month, until the inevitable breakup of Panic! At The Disco. 

Ryan still isn’t exactly sure what had happened. His memories are hazy, and blotched with emotion of bitterness and anger that he’d rather not revisit. All he knew was that in the span of about a decade, he and Brendon had gone from friends, to best friends, to would-be lovers, strangers, and finally progressing to the casual affair of now.

It was hard to quit Brendon, both emotionally and physically. They didn’t talk much (if they even did talk at all), yet he kept seeing Brendon’s face as much as he’d tried to avoid it. It was painful at first, seeing Brendon plastered on his TV screen and on billboards and rebirthed by the most self-destructive corner of Ryan’s subconscious in his worst nightmares, but Ryan had slowly learnt to regard Brendon Urie and Panic! At The Disco as nothing more than a distant memory from a different life. 

Yet, they’d always find a way back to each other, even if just for brief moments of closeness. And after said brief moments had passed, they could go back to pretending that they didn’t exist in each other’s lives.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if Ryan had just been honest with himself. If he’d confronted his issues with Brendon head on instead of continuously hiding behind excuses of not caring, which he did. Excuses that whatever he and Brendon had never existed, which it did. Ryan didn’t know what to think anymore. It always did feel like Brendon had thrown Ryan right out of his life the day the band fell apart, yet there would always be the one or two Panic! songs that would tempt Ryan’s blind optimism, playing with the idea that Brendon had been thinking about him the same way Ryan had hoped he would. 

Should it even surprise Ryan if Brendon had been writing songs about him all this while? It was an open secret just how many Fall Out Boy songs had been written about Mikey Way- Pete Wentz wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him over the head with his own damned bass- and Brendon had always been pretty good friends with Pete. 

Ryan sits up, reaches for his crumpled up shirt on the floor and pulls it over his head. It reeks of sweat and alcohol, not so bad considering the last time he’d gotten blackout drunk someone had thrown up all over his clothes. 

“No paps followed us back, right?”

Brendon doesn’t so much as look up from his phone. “None.”

This was how every ‘encounter’ with Brendon would end. No loving words or confessions of secret tortured feelings for each other exchanged, only the same apathetic affirmation that they hadn’t been caught, leaving Ryan feeling as if he was stuck in a hazy, alcohol and Brendon Urie fuelled limbo. It felt like a no strings attached kind of relationship for Brendon, a non emotional affair, and the morning after always felt as if they’d merely so much as met for business dinner the night before.

Which was never the case.

Ryan swings his legs over the side of Brendon’s bed. He’s about ready to leave, but he’s in no hurry. Brendon’s wife has been out for days, gone backpacking across Europe with her girlfriends. 

“How many songs have you written about me?”

Brendon puts his phone down, runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Christ, Ry, I’m not Pete.” A pause. He still sounds sleepy. “I don’t know. They’re never directly about you, it’s always just… Inspiration and whatnot.”

“Never directly about me?” Ryan snaps. Brendon’s indifference is beginning to piss him off. “Then explain Casual Affair. Unless you’ve been screwing around with Dallon too? Or Patrick?”

“Jeez. I haven’t, you take me for some kind of slut?”

“I’m not the one sleeping with my ex-bandmate behind my wife’s back.”

Brendon’s fully awake now. He’s detected the malice seeping into Ryan’s voice and he’s engaged full defence mode. “Hey man, if it bothers you so much, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

“Y’know- I have nothing to lose, Bren. I’m not attached. The mainstream media has no interest in me.” Ryan shrugs, gestures weakly as if to prove a point. “You have everything- your career and marriage both at stake. If I really hated you, I’d leak a few photos, ruin your life in a matter of seconds.”

“Is this a threat? Are you threatening me now?”

Was he? Ryan did say ‘if’- and he doesn’t exactly hate Brendon. 

Ryan shrugs. “Eh.”

Brendon chuckles. He’s not threatened at all.

The morning sun shining through Brendon’s bedroom window casts a gentle golden glow onto his angular face, making him look for all the world more handsome than he already is. Ryan doesn’t really feel like leaving. It doesn’t feel like the shameful morning after of a scandalous extra marital affair. And if Ryan tries hard enough, he can even almost fool himself, just for a second or two, into thinking that this is their bed, that Brendon had married him instead and that they aren’t just a shameful secret hidden away from the rest of the world.

Brendon gets up, yawns and stretches for a bit, pulls a clean tank top over his head. “Do you want to get brunch?”

“Are you still drunk or what?” 

“Not as a date, Ry. Just as friends.”

“And since when were we friends?”

A brief look of hurt flashes past Brendon’s face. No response. Brendon turns away from Ryan, starts going through his wardrobe for a clean pair of pants. Ryan is hit with a sharp pang of regret- maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh. Were they friends? Ryan did always think that they could never, ever go back to what they were before, and that to try would only be setting both of them up for more heartbreak, while Brendon’s still as naive as he was half a decade ago.

Yet, Ryan can’t bring himself to apologise. 

“I should probably go-“

“I’m sorry we had to end up this way, Ryan.” Brendon’s voice is hardened, words laced with cold detachment. He’s still rummaging for jeans- a little more aggressively now, bitterly throwing aside whichever pair he deems unsuitable. “But maybe it hasn’t occurred to you that the band’s breakdown hurt me as much as it did for you. And not just because I lost my lead guitarist.”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just-“

“You think I didn’t fucking miss you, man? That whatever we had didn’t matter to me?” Brendon pulls out a pair of black jeans. He still isn’t looking at Ryan. “I love my wife but fuck, the things you make me do. And you don’t even realise it! I really fucking hate you sometimes, Ryan Ross.”

Ryan takes a deep breath, tries to steel his nerves. He doesn’t know if he prefers aloof Brendon or emotional Brendon anymore at this point. He’s always hated seeing Brendon upset, and being told that he’d been a cause of it feels like a slap to his face. “Whatever it is we have now- it isn’t going to go anywhere. I’ve told you, we can’t keep doing this. One day, the paps are going to find out. And then her. That’s how everything’s going to end. And it’s selfish of me to hold you back like this.”

There always is nothing worse than knowing how it ends. 

“And since when did you care?”

“I’ve always did, Bren.” Ryan smiles sadly. He can feel his heart begin to hurt, and honestly, it had been his own damn fault. “I’ve always wanted the best for you.”

Ryan gets up from the bed, pulls his jacket on and swings his bag over his shoulders. Maybe he’d finally keep to this promise he’d broken countless times before. Or maybe he’d be back here again in half a year or so, half intoxicated and by Brendon’s side just so they could do it all over again. 

“Ryan.”

Ryan stops, barely inches away from Brendon’s bedroom door. He doesn’t turn to look behind him. “Yeah?”

“You still up for brunch?”

“Maybe next week.”

“I’ll be in touch, then.”

Ryan nods mutely. He’d just have to hold off his internal issues with Brendon till then. “Take care of yourself, Brendon.”

“You too, Ry.”

Ryan thinks he can hear Brendon’s voice crack, almost as if he’s holding back a sob. Ryan doesn’t want to be around to see him cry.

Ryan’s cried over Brendon enough. He pushes the door open, and walks out of Brendon’s life once again.


End file.
